


the most beautiful and difficult instrument

by myrmidryad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Homophobic Language, M/M, Non-binary character, trans lady lamarque, trans lady marius/maria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Les Mis Mutant AU week! </p><p>Lamarque’s facility for biodynamic youngsters was miles from his parents’ house in Aquitaine, literally on the other side of the country. They said they would visit, but Enjolras doubted they would find the time. He would be able to go home in the school holidays, but he wasn’t sure they would want him around anymore. His father hadn’t even come to drop him off.</p><p> </p><p>Enjolras' voice draws peoples' attention even when he doesn't want it to. Grantaire can only echo what other people say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the most beautiful and difficult instrument

**Author's Note:**

> Title adapted from the quote, "The human voice is the most beautiful instrument of all, but it is the most difficult to play." by Richard Strauss.
> 
> I've borrowed the term 'biodynamic' from the excellent webcomic [Strong Female Protagonist](http://strongfemaleprotagonist.com/).

It had happened at some point on the flight back to France. Enjolras hadn’t spoken for hours – hadn’t needed to – and while they were waiting for their luggage a pair of security guards approached him. “Excuse me, could you come with us please?”

Like any fourteen year-old, Enjolras looked immediately at his parents, who had both turned away from the conveyer belt to frown. “What’s this about?” his father asked.

“Are you his parents?”

“We are.” His mother stepped up behind him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Usually he’d shrug off such a gesture, but now he shifted closer to her.

“Your son has registered positive on our scans for biodynamism, so if you’d just step this way –”

“For what?” Enjolras shrank back against his mother as his father squared up to the security guard. “I seriously doubt that. We came through from Canada with no mishaps – clearly your equipment is malfunctioning. Now if you don’t mind, we’re tired, and we would like to collect our luggage in peace.”

“I’m afraid not, monsieur.” The second security guard grabbed Enjolras’ arm.

“Don’t!” Enjolras pulled back, and his heart jumped as every single person in hearing range turned to look at him at the same time.

“Augmented vocal cords,” the guard muttered, tightening his grip. “Come on, kid.”

“Don’t, let go!” More people turned to look and Enjolras struggled to pull away from the guard’s hand. “Get off me!”

“Let go of him!” His mother wrapped her arms around him, but there were more guards now, and Enjolras started to yell, panicked beyond clear thinking.

“Get off me! Let go! Maman! Maman!”

Everyone was staring, people moving towards him and getting between him and his shouting parents even though the conveyer had started to bring the luggage through. Large arms wrapped around his torso, pinning his elbows to his sides and lifting him off his feet. “Calm down, kid!”

“Maman!” Enjolras screamed, kicking furiously. Another guard grabbed his legs, and no matter how much he twisted they wouldn’t let go, pulling him steadily away from his parents and his luggage and his life. Every eye in the airport followed him as he was dragged out of sight, something in his voice holding their attention against their will.

 

Lamarque’s facility for biodynamic youngsters was miles from his parents’ house in Aquitaine, literally on the other side of the country. They said they would visit, but Enjolras doubted they would find the time. He would be able to go home in the school holidays, but he wasn’t sure they would want him around anymore. His father hadn’t even come to drop him off.

“You’ll still be going to school like a normal child,” his mother assured him as they drove. Enjolras stared out of the window at the passing fields and wondered how long it would take to walk home from here. “There’s a local school you’ll be attending. It’s just like your old boarding school.”

“I could come home from there at the weekends,” Enjolras murmured.

“I know, love, but this will be better in the long run. You’ll be spending time with people like you, other biodynamic children, and supervisors who will know how to help you.”

She was being relentlessly cheery about it all. Enjolras just wanted to cry.

Lamarque’s ‘facility for biodynamic youngsters’ wasn’t at the end of a long drive, as Enjolras had expected. There was a signpost at a crossroads of the narrow country lane they were on pointing to a small road on the left, and around the side of a modern house and several tall trees was what looked like a small stately home. Four stories and an exterior that had been recently cleared of ivy, if the marks on the stone were any indication.

“Here we are then.” His mother parked in front of the large front door and squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll be like home in no time, you wait and see.”

Apparently the facility had just been opened, and Enjolras was one of only three residents so far. “I expect more will join us as we expand,” Lamarque said as she gave them a short tour. She was a middle-aged woman with greying hair and a surprisingly deep voice, and she hadn’t tried to be reassuring yet, which Enjolras appreciated. “We have enough rooms for dozens of residents, though of course if that many come we’ll need to make the rooms into dorms. For now, you each get your own bedroom. I think a little privacy can go a long way.”

“You say ‘we’.” Enjolras’ mother glanced around at the dining hall as they were led through it and into a common room. “Who else will be supervising the children?”

“My deputy director Madame Vernait will meet us in my office, as will Sister Simplice and Monsieur Fauchelevent.”

“What do they do?”

“Sister Simplice is a qualified nurse, and Monsieur Fauchelevent has a number of talents. Fantine – Madame Vernait – assists me with all of the mundane necessities a facility like this requires in order to function properly. Primarily, they’ll keep everything in good order and make sure none of the residents break any of the major rules.”

They left the common room, and Lamarque ignored the stairwell in favour of leading them outside. There was a large lawn with a squat oak in the middle, the edges lined with more trees, and Lamarque gestured to it. “Plenty of room for running around, as you can see. Monsieur Fauchelevent maintains an excellent vegetable patch just beyond that hedge, and there’s a fence to clearly mark the edge of the property. Trespassing on our neighbours’ land is obviously not allowed.” She gave Enjolras a small smile over her shoulder.

“Are the other supervisors also…” Enjolras’ mother hesitated. “Biodynamic?”

“Oh yes. Sister Simplice possesses a rare strain of telepathy limited to the detection of truths and falsehoods. She’s essentially a human lie-detector. Monsieur Fauchelevent is a botanokinetic.” At their confused expressions, Lamarque elaborated. “He can manipulate plant life. And Madame Vernait is immune to any and all other biodynamic abilities. She’s a very rare individual – I think only one or two others with her gift exist.”

“She’s immune to everything?” Enjolras spoke without thinking. Lamarque’s head snapped round to look at him, and he faltered.

“She would indeed be immune to your voice,” Lamarque said after a moment, beckoning for him and his mother to follow her through another door, back into the house. “Fantine may well be the only person on this continent with the ability to ignore you.”

Enjolras doubted he was meant to find the idea as thrilling as he did.

They met Fantine in Lamarque’s office. Enjolras could tell his mother was charmed by her, though he wanted to throw himself out of the window when she asked whether Fantine was from China or Japan. “Actually, I’m from France,” Fantine smiled, far more polite than Enjolras’ mother deserved. “But I believe my parents were Vietnamese, if that’s what you’re asking.” Enjolras sank into the offered chair and resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands.

Sister Simplice and Monsieur Fauchelevent greeted them and excused themselves immediately afterwards, and Fantine followed not long after. She seemed nice enough – they all did. All too soon, his mother was hugging him goodbye outside the front door, his suitcase on the ground beside him.

He watched her drive away and clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. At least his vocal abnormality meant he had a viable excuse for keeping quiet.

Lamarque was waiting for him inside, at the foot of the stairs. “I’ll take that for you,” she said, lifting his suitcase as though it was empty.

“How –” he started without thinking, then bit his tongue and fell silent.

She gave him a smile and gestured for him to follow as she went upstairs. “Forcefields have more practical uses than people tend to think. A little push below or behind a heavy object goes a long way. You can speak freely here, you know.” Enjolras only nodded, and she didn’t push. “I suggest you leave this here and explore a bit,” she said, putting his case down. “Pick any room you like. See if you can find Combeferre and Courfeyrac while you’re at it.”

His fellow residents. He nodded again, and watched as she went back downstairs and into her office. They’d barely seen the upper floors on her little tour – she’d walked past this staircase and simply said that every room above the ground floor was a bedroom, with the exception of Sister Simplice’s little infirmary. Somewhere above him, floorboards creaked, and Enjolras moved along the landing as quietly as he could.

Every room he looked into was empty. Some didn’t even have furniture. A couple had beds and desks, but that was all. He supposed he really was one of the first people to live here. Windows without curtains presented different views around the house, the single-pane glass old and distorted in places. The threadbare carpets were frayed at the edges, showing worn floorboards below that groaned when Enjolras walked across them. Who had lived here before? Was it Lamarque’s house? Why was she even opening it up to biodynamic freaks like them?

The distinctive thuds of feet running down stairs echoed down the corridor, and Enjolras shrank into the nearest room, wondering whether it would be completely ridiculous to hide in the wardrobe. He was never normally shy, but since the airport…

“Here I come, ready or not!” The voice was high, excited, accompanied by swift, heavy feet against the ancient floorboards. The noise grew as the person approached, and Enjolras flinched when the door to his room burst open. “Found you!” The boy was about his age, chubby and smiling with light brown skin and short-cut black hair. “Were you hiding?”

Enjolras shook his head, and the boy stepped closer. As he did, Enjolras found himself relaxing without meaning to, a small smile pulling his lips upwards. The boy’s grin widened in response. “I’m Courfeyrac. You’re…Enjorlas?”

“Enjolras,” he corrected, and saw Courfeyrac startle at the sound of his voice, then start to grin.

“Lamarque said something about enhanced vocal abilities! That’s so cool – Combeferre’s going to love it. Have you chosen a room yet? You should come up and live with us. We’re on the top floor, where the servants used to live. Combeferre keeps bumping his head on the ceilings, but we’ve got the best view, and there’s a door that opens onto the fire escape, which is really neat.”

Enjolras realised he was following Courfeyrac back along the corridor, but didn’t really mind. “What’s your biodynamic alteration?”

Courfeyrac turned to walk backwards, eyes wide. “Whoa, have you ever heard your voice? It’s so weird, it’s like I can’t focus on anything else when you speak. Is there a fancy term for that?”

Enjolras shook his head, touching his throat and looking down, away from Courfeyrac’s curious expression. “Not that I know of.”

“Sweet! We can make one up for you! Mine’s advanced empathy, with a bit of manipulation? So I can feel what other people are feeling, and sometimes I can make them feel things. That’s kind of tricky though, and apparently unethical, but it’d probably be handy, right? Like, for crowd control or diffusing tense situations, y’know? Combeferre’s got super vision.”

Enjolras opened his mouth, and at Courfeyrac’s encouraging nod, he asked quietly, “What does that mean? Super vision?”

“He can see a load of different light spectrums and stuff? And he’s got ridiculously good aim, which probably has something to do with it. Shit!” He barely stopped himself falling as he slipped off the little step at the end of the landing. “It’s cool, I saved it, we’re good.” He shot Enjolras a pleased grin and beckoned him through a narrow white door Enjolras hadn’t been through yet. It opened onto a spiralling staircase, and Courfeyrac raced up it immediately. “We can get your stuff in a minute, if you want to room up here with us. You don’t have to, obviously, but seriously, our view is _great_.”

Enjolras was on the edge of laughing as he followed, all of his tension from earlier gone as though it had never been. They went right to the top, and Courfeyrac led him along a low-ceilinged corridor and round a corner to an open door. “Combeferre! I found him!”

“Congratulations.”

Enjolras followed Courfeyrac inside, his nerves returning when he saw the tall black boy stretched out on the bed inside, an open book in his hands. He was obviously a couple of years older, and Enjolras made himself hold his gaze when their eyes met.

“This is Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said. “Enjolras, meet Combeferre.”

“Hi.” Combeferre put his book down and sat up, crossing his legs.

“Hi.” Enjolras muttered. He was already expecting it when Combeferre leaned forward as if physically pulled, his eyes widening.

“Wow.”

“Right?” Courfeyrac beckoned Enjolras over to the window. “Check out the _view_.”

Combeferre was only one year older, it turned out, and Courfeyrac was older than Enjolras by a few months as well. They were both nice though, helping Enjolras haul his suitcase up the stairs and into a small room next to Courfeyrac’s, who had Combeferre on his other side.

They’d both been abandoned by their families as well. They didn’t say it that way, but Combeferre was clearly bitter, calling himself his family’s new dirty secret, and Courfeyrac’s voice quietened when he talked about being left here two days ago by his uncle (his parents had been too busy to drive him).

Over supper (Chinese takeout, because the kitchen wasn’t quite in working order yet) Lamarque tapped the table until they were all looking at her and laid down her knife and fork. “Starting from Monday, this house will be truly open,” she said, “and I want to get a few things straight before that happens.”

Enjolras suppressed a sigh. _Rules_.

Lamarque looked at him, then at Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “This is not a school. We are not your teachers, and while you are here, you will not be expected to behave like students. You are welcome to make this house your home, and to treat it as such. We want this to be a place of security and safety for you. We want you to be comfortable here.” She smiled suddenly, her eyes wrinkling at the corners. “I’ve been planning to do this for a long time. I’m very glad that I can finally make it happen.”

“Why have you been planning it?” Courfeyrac asked, cocking his head. “Why did you have to wait?”

“I wanted this house to be the location.” Lamarque’s smile turned a touch vindictive. “My family despised me for several reasons, my abilities notwithstanding, but this house came to me eventually, and now I get to do what I want with it. And what I want is to help other biodynamics.”

 

By the time the school term began, Enjolras had grown closer to Combeferre and Courfeyrac than any of his friends from back home. They were even learning sign language together so that he would be able to talk to them without speaking out loud. Over the next few months, they were joined by other residents.

Marius was another like them – the child of a rich family who was now that family’s shame. He could hitchhike the senses of other creatures; a trait apparently inherited from his father. He was shy, but kind, and Courfeyrac took to him immediately. His abilities calmed Marius down whenever he hitchhiked by accident.

Musichetta arrived with an entourage of about fifteen family members who filled the house with chatter and noise while they made sure their darling was settled far away from the boys. She had been quiet and demure while they were there, and revealed a wicked sense of humour as soon as they were gone. Her telepathy was fairly low on the scale – she couldn’t pick very much up unless she was touching the person whose mind she wanted to read, and if they resisted it could be painful for her to continue. “Hardly Professor X,” she said dryly after explaining it.

Jehan was the most powerful biodynamic Lamarque had taken on. He was an energy manipulator whose abilities were incredibly powerful, but unstable. Like Marius hitchhiking without meaning to, Jehan frequently absorbed energy from his surroundings by accident. Too much meant that his body would try to expel it in unpredictable ways. He would touch a table and blast it halfway across the room. Step outside and cause the nearest plants to grow towards him. While he slept, the objects and furniture in his bedroom would levitate and move around.

Bahorel was the only one who had bullied his parents into letting him come instead of the other way around. He went where Jehan went – while Jehan manipulated energy, Bahorel transferred it. He could never keep any for himself the way Jehan could (whenever he tried, he made himself sick), but he was adept at drawing the excess energy Jehan took into himself and redirecting it safely. He could transfer energy from other sources as well – one of his favourite tricks was drawing electricity into himself and releasing it in bursts and sparks of light, creating a tiny lightning storm in his hands.

Feuilly and the Thénardier siblings were the first residents Lamarque took on as soon as she could guarantee places for non-paying biodynamics. By everyone’s agreement, the house was to be run as a community to free up enough money to allow biodynamics whose families either couldn’t afford or didn’t want to pay for them to live there.

Feuilly was a teleporter at the lowest end of the scale – they could only teleport small objects a distance of a few metres, and half the time the objects wouldn’t come through intact. They practised constantly, trying to increase their range and accuracy.

Lamarque had apparently had to go to court to get custody of the Thénardier siblings, who stuck close together for a few weeks until they started to trust the others. They’d apparently been used by their parents for criminal purposes. Éponine had a form of clairvoyance and telepathy that meant she could touch objects and instantly know things about them, and about their owners. Azelma had danger intuition, and Gavroche was a technopath.

Claude – Monsieur Fauchelevent – drove them into town five days a week to attend the school there. Enjolras shared classes with Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Jehan, and Éponine, but they all stuck together at break and lunch. It wasn’t that the other students were openly hostile, exactly. But they kept their distance. They stared. They whispered. Only Gavroche mingled freely with his classmates, too carefree to worry about whatever they were saying behind his back.

 

Enjolras woke up when his bedside table flew across the room and hit the wall with a bang. As soon as he sat up, he saw that half the furniture in his room was shifting around, and the clothes he’d dumped on the floor before getting into bed were twisting and knotting themselves in the air.

He stumbled to the door and opened it at the same time as Feuilly’s door opposite his burst open. “Is Bahorel awake yet?”

Enjolras shrugged and signed _I don’t know_ with one hand. They both ran towards Jehan’s room, where Combeferre and Gavroche were already pushing at the door. “Don’t break it down!” Enjolras cried as Gavroche made to take a run-up. He flinched when everyone turned to look at him, and all the nearby floating objects jerked a couple of inches in his direction. _Jehan will be upset when he wakes up_ , he signed quickly.

“Move.” Bahorel spoke from behind him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Combeferre and Gavroche stepped aside as he approached and broke the door open with one swift kick. Enjolras caught a glimpse of Jehan curled up in his (floating) bed before Bahorel jumped up onto it and pulled Jehan into his arms, his voice a low murmur under the noise of furniture banging against the walls.

“Is Jehan having an episode again?” Musichetta appeared on the stairs, wrapped in a dark purple dressing gown with Éponine, Azelma, and Marius. Who – Enjolras did a quick double take – was wearing a nightie. He nodded and pulled Gavroche back when he made to sneak into Jehan’s room, earning a thump on the arm for his trouble.

“He’ll be alright.” Feuilly touched Enjolras’ shoulder. “He won’t want everyone watching when he wakes up.”

Enjolras nodded and caught Courfeyrac’s eye – ever intuitive, he reached in and closed the door just as Jehan jerked awake, and all the furniture fell to the floor at once. _Leave them_ , Enjolras signed, beckoning to them to move away.

As they crept away, there was no way to miss the sound of Jehan crying, and when they got up the next morning, Bahorel’s room was still empty. Neither of them went to school.

 

“I’ve got it this time, I swear!” Feuilly laughed, not put off by the way they were all giggling helplessly. “Watch, watch!”

“Five euro says the pen explodes again,” Musichetta snickered, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. Jehan shook his head, cross-legged on top of the picnic table outside the science block.

“I say it’ll go through.”

“Thanks, darling.” Feuilly grinned, flexing their fingers. Jehan blew them a kiss.

“Always on your side, sweet-cheeks. Besides, you’re definitely getting better!”

Enjolras laughed silently (he’d learned how), leaning into Combeferre’s side. Courfeyrac kicked him under the table to get his attention and glanced at the pile of broken biros Feuilly had failed to teleport properly, rolling his eyes to make Enjolras snort.

“I’ve got this, watch me.” Feuilly twirled another biro between their fingers and narrowed their eyes, holding their other hand palm-up. “Here I go.” They dropped the biro from one hand to the other, and halfway between them the biro flickered, reality warping around it for a fraction of a second before it vanished and fell out of the air a few feet to the left. Ever fast, Éponine snatched it out of the air and crowed triumphantly.

“Success!”

“Yes!” Feuilly pumped the air. “Told you I could do it!”

“Get back to me when your ratio of success to failure is greater than three to two,” Combeferre muttered, lips twitching. It turned into laughter when Bahorel pulled him into a headlock, all of them cackling as Combeferre struggled in vain against Bahorel’s grip.

“I’ll save you!” Jehan cried, flopping on top of them dramatically. “Or else perish valiantly in the attempt!”

“Then die!” Bahorel relinquished Combeferre in favour of pulling Jehan across the table, pretending to throttle him. Enjolras made a show of mopping Combeferre’s brow as he pretended to swoon in relief at being released, and Courfeyrac was laughing so hard he was squeaking.

Enjolras held onto the memory in his next class, paired with Bernard Caillaud by the teacher and biting his tongue hard enough to give himself ulcers because he couldn’t defend himself and his friends from Bernard’s casual unending commentary on their collective freakishness without drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Courfeyrac was the one who snapped, stalking across the room from his designated partner and shoving Bernard in the chest. “What are you saying to him?” he demanded, glaring up into Bernard’s face. “You think I can’t fucking tell you’re saying shit to him?”

Bernard, surprised for only a moment, shoved Courfeyrac back. Madame Chastel shouted – “Hey!” – and started making her way up from the front.

“What’s it to you, fatty?” Bernard pushed Courfeyrac again, sneering. “Is your boyfriend quiet because his tongue’s still up your ass? Should’ve known you were faggots as well as freaks.”

Enjolras had a hand wound tight in Bernard’s hair almost before he knew what he was doing, wrenching the other boy back and turning him quickly to trip him up and send him crashing to the ground. Chastel yelled again, the rest of the class crowding close and shouting. Enjolras tuned them out and started kicking and punching every inch of Bernard in his reach. Bernard fought back viciously, and Enjolras grunted as he caught an elbow to the chest and narrowly avoided a knee in the groin.

“Get off him right now!” Chastel wrapped her arms around his waist and yanked him back just as Bernard spat at him. Enjolras turned his face just in time for it to hit his jaw instead of his lips, and Courfeyrac slid under the table to leap on top of Bernard and lay into him. “Separate them!” Madame Chastel bellowed. “Someone fetch the principal!”

“Get this mutant faggot off me!” Bernard screeched, and Enjolras saw red, tearing out of Madame Chastel’s grip to drop to his knees and slam his fist into Bernard’s face.

“Say that again!” he snarled, not caring that his voice was making everyone else pause, caught under its spell. “Say it again, I dare you! I’ll break your fucking neck!”

He and Courfeyrac were both suspended for a week and put on probation for the rest of the term when they returned to school. Enjolras screamed into a pillow until he was hoarse, and everyone pretended they’d heard nothing at all.

 

 _Do you know what we’re here for?_ Enjolras signed to Combeferre as Lamarque called for silence. Combeferre shrugged. They’d been ushered into the common room as soon as they’d gotten back from school, Marius the only absentee – he’d stayed home sick.

“Non-verbal communication still counts as speaking, Enjolras,” Lamarque said before he could ask Combeferre anything else.

 _Sorry_ , he signed one-handed, sighing. _Where’s Marius?_

“Thank you, Enjolras, for kindly raising the point of this meeting.” She bowed her head and gestured for everyone to look at her. “I have an announcement to make concerning your absent housemate, who would prefer from now on to be known as Maria, and referred to at all times as a young woman.”

Enjolras looked over at Feuilly immediately, smiling when he saw their wide eyes and slowly growing smile. The girls didn’t look surprised at all, and Courfeyrac was already on his feet, so eager he couldn’t stay still. “Can we bake a cake?”

“I’d rather you didn’t make a big deal out of it.”

Marius – _Maria_ – was wearing clothes clearly borrowed from the girls. A colourful top that could only be Musichetta’s, and dark skinny jeans. Under the sudden attention, she shrank, pulling her arms across her stomach and chest. Éponine sprung up to go over to her, a rare smile on her face. “You look great.”

“Isn’t that Musichetta’s?” Jehan asked. “The top, I mean?” He yelped when Musichetta whacked his arm. “Hey, it looks good, I only meant that she needs new clothes, right?” He looked back at Maria, smiling hopefully. “Shopping trip?”

Maria’s breath had caught when Jehan called her _she_ , and Enjolras grinned when she nodded, starting to smile properly. “I can’t keep borrowing your stuff,” she told Éponine, who took her hand and squeezed.

“You’re keeping the jeans. They were always too long for me anyway.”

“And you looked crap in them,” Azelma called cheerfully, blowing Éponine a kiss when she scowled.

Courfeyrac jumped over Enjolras’ chair, steadying himself with a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder before going over to Maria and getting down on one knee. “Maria, may I ask you a serious question?”

“Um.” Maria glanced at Éponine before nodding, shifting backwards a little. “Yes?”

“Will you be my prom date?” Courfeyrac grinned, and Maria ducked her head, a breathless laugh escaping. “Or anti-prom, whichever we decide to do. Either way, will you be my date?”

Maria couldn’t speak, but she was bright red and beaming, and when she nodded, Gavroche whooped from his seat on the windowsill. “Mademoiselle!” Courfeyrac declared, standing and bowing. “You have made me the happiest man in the room.”They ended up going shopping together, all eleven of them piling into the bus with Lamarque at the wheel and Fantine in the passenger seat. Enjolras could barely dress himself, and he and Combeferre mostly stuck to the bookshops while the others threw themselves gleefully into helping Maria buy a new wardrobe. Conveniently, it was her birthday in a month and a half, and they’d all agreed to chip in for new clothes for her as early presents.

Enjolras heard from Feuilly on the bus ride back (signed furtively across the aisle) that Maria had broken down and cried in a changing room at one point, but that she assured them all it was just because she was so happy and relieved they were all being so nice about it. _As if we were going to be dicks_ , Feuilly signed, rolling their eyes. _With me being non-binary and Lamarque trans as well._

 _If anyone’s mean to her at school, can we kill them?_ Enjolras signed back, casting a glance over at Maria, cuddled up at the back of the bus with Éponine, who was doing an excellent impression of a testy mother tiger.

Feuilly nodded. _I’ll help you hide the body. I could teleport it underground in tiny chunks?_

Enjolras had to suppress a snort of laughter, a hand pressed over his mouth and nose. Feuilly just grinned and waggled their fingers, miming their teleportation gestures. On Enjolras’ other side, Combeferre muttered, “I’ll keep watch while you do the deed,” and Enjolras bit down on his sleeve to stop himself laughing audibly.

 

Enjolras felt the surprise ripple through the class when he thrust his hand into the air, fixing his eyes on Monsieur Ferrand. Everyone knew he didn’t speak. He’d never volunteered to do so before, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

Courfeyrac waved to get his attention, eyebrows raised _. Do you want me to interpret?_ he signed quickly. Enjolras shook his head. He wanted to be heard this time.

Finally, Ferrand saw him. “Yes…?”

Enjolras lowered his hand and coughed to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack when he used it – the sound drew everyone’s attention, the little mutterings at the back of the class dying instantly. “If biodynamic individuals can help people, how is that a bad thing?”

Ferrand blinked, swaying forward for a moment before he collected himself. “You’re…simplifying the situation somewhat. The use of biodynamic powers in a day-to-day setting –”

“Can be useful,” Enjolras interrupted. “If a biodynamic person who can manipulate organic matter wants to become a doctor, isn’t that a good thing?”

“But that kind of power is unfortunately unnatural.” Ferrand shook his head. “How does it go? Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely, hm?”

“All biodynamic powers have their limits and drawbacks,” Enjolras argued. “Don’t biotypical people possess power too? Power comes in all sorts of forms – one person might have x-ray vision, but another might have been born into a rich family. Which one has more power? If biodynamic people want to use their abilities to help others, why not let them?”

“Let them help other biodynamic people, you mean?”

Enjolras scowled, leaning forward. “ _Anyone!_ Why do they have to be biodynamic? Why would someone have to be just like me for me to decide they’re worthy of help?”

“So you want to help people?” Ferrand smiled slightly, and Enjolras bristled, ignoring the slightly desperate calmness pushing at the edges of his senses – an attempted assist from Courfeyrac to keep his cool. But why should he need to?

“I want to be able to use my voice without fear,” Enjolras said, as evenly as he could manage. “I want that to be the case for everyone.”

“But your particular ability arguably infringes on people’s free will.” Ferrand gestured to him, tone light. “I couldn’t stop listening if I wanted to.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Enjolras snapped. “If I can use my voice to speak for people who aren’t usually heard – if I can draw attention to other peoples’ problems, don’t I have a moral duty to do so?”

“And if people don’t want to listen?” Ferrand raised an eyebrow. “By using your voice, you would be forcing them to pay attention to you – doesn’t that go against your moral code?”

“Maybe people _should_ be made to listen.” Enjolras clenched his fists under the table. “People can’t ignore me – I can make them listen, and they’ll have to pay attention. That’s a _good_ thing. If I’m saying the right things, I mean.”

“Ah, but who decides they’re ‘the right things’?” Ferrand laughed, a simper that made Enjolras’ face burn. “You can’t make those decisions for everyone, Enjolras. That’s not the way the world works.”

“The world as it is now is flawed!” Enjolras fought the urge to slam his fist on the table for emphasis. “If I could bring attention to issues that are ignored, I should do it. Because I have the ability to do that, I have a responsibility to do that. Isn’t that why richer people pay more tax? Shouldn’t those who have the power to stop bad things happening do that? We should be helping those less fortunate, not ignoring them. And that goes for more than just biodynamics.”

“Like gay people?” someone snorted, and Enjolras nodded.

“All minorities.” Something Musichetta had said once jumped into his mind, and he added, “All of these things intersect as well, don’t they? Men are still more present in positions of power than women. If a black person is rich, they might still be at a disadvantage because of their skin colour.”

“This isn’t about sex or race, Enjolras.” Ferrand shook his head, mouth open to continue, but Enjolras cut him off, tired of being silent.

“It goes for biodynamism as well – even if I wind up rich and powerful I’ll still be a minority for that, and people will still discriminate against me because of it. Biodynamics make up less than one percent of the world’s population, but we’re still treated like an endemic disease.”

“One percent isn’t enough to make a fuss over,” someone argued.

“One percent is still thousands of people!” Enjolras countered, twisting to face the students behind him. “And even if it were less, shouldn’t humanity want to help those less privileged? The only way we advance as a species is if we all help each other and overcome our prejudices.”

“Are biodynamics included in humanity?” a girl near the front muttered, and Enjolras spun back round to glare at Ferrand.

“That’s the sort of attitude I’m talking about!”

“But do you really think a confrontational attitude will get you anywhere?” Ferrand asked, apparently unconcerned.

“Why should we be passive about it?” Courfeyrac burst out. “Wouldn’t you be angry in our position?”

“Peaceful protests aren’t as effective,” Bahorel added, lounging over the front of his desk and smirking. “If people want to be heard, they have to make noise.”

“You would advocate violence?” Ferrand shook his head, frowning. “You know that only damages your cause.”

“Keeping our mouths shut and our abilities hidden is just as damaging,” Enjolras said. Even when he spoke quietly, he found, everyone fell silent to listen to him. “But we’re told to do that because doing anything else ‘hurts our cause’. Funny how it also benefits our oppressors.”

“You aren’t victims here,” Ferrand sighed, the picture of an exasperated teacher dealing with an overexcited pupil.

“You’re right,” Bahorel called, tapping his pen against his desk in a steady, quiet beat. “We’re damn lucky compared to the other biodynamics out there. What happened last month in Italy?” he asked Jehan, feigning forgetfulness. “God, it’s on the tip of my tongue –”

“That’s quite enough,” Ferrand snapped, and Enjolras cut across him, forcing him to listen.

“Pia Giovino,” he said. “A nine year old girl murdered by a family member because she was biodynamic. That’s not even touching on the exploitation of biodynamics for their abilities by abusers and criminals.” He glanced at Éponine, who was hunched in her seat, stubbornly ignoring him as much as she was able. “Isn’t it our responsibility as human beings to prevent that sort of thing from happening?”

“Of course it is,” Ferrand sighed. Courfeyrac waved a hand.

“Then why tell us to keep our mouths shut and accept things the way they are?”

“That’s not what I was saying –”

“But it was implied.” Enjolras met his flustered gaze calmly, their positions reversed. “Confirming the anti-biodynamic prejudices of people like Yvette.” The girl who had asked whether biodynamics counted as human flushed.

There was a moment of silence. Then Ferrand glanced at the clock and shook his head. “I think that’s all we have time for today.” As everyone began packing their things away, he caught Enjolras’ eye. “Enjolras? A word, please.”

Lamarque was angry when he brought back the letter from the principal detailing his renewed probation, but when he explained the situation (backed up by Courfeyrac) she called the school and took care of it. Everyone who had witnessed his argument with Ferrand was giddy apart from Éponine, who caught Enjolras’ eye in the common room that evening and started signing at him, her movements jerky, her eyes narrow.

_Just because you can make yourself heard doesn’t mean you get to speak for all of us._

_I didn’t mean to do that_ , he signed back, mouthing _sorry_ when he finished. She gave him an unimpressed look, and he tried to explain. _I just got angry. Didn’t you agree with what I was saying?_

_I don’t think a classroom is the right place to say it._

_What do you mean?_

She hesitated, then continued at a slower pace. _I mean there are bigger things to worry about than one teacher’s shitty attitude. Be patient_ , she added. _Wait to speak until you’ll have a real impact._

_Be sneaky, you mean?_

Her lips twitched, and she nodded. _Your voice is powerful. Don’t wear it out on things that don’t matter in the long run._

 

“Okay, I have it.” Maria’s voice was faint, her eyes unfocused. “Chetta?”

Enjolras watched, grass soft under his crossed legs and sun warm on his back. Musichetta touched Maria’s shoulder, and began to smile a moment later. “Holy _shit_.”

“What’s it like?” Jehan asked eagerly, glancing up above at the buzzard that had appeared overhead. The buzzard whose vision Maria was currently hitchhiking.

“ _So_ cool,” Musichetta breathed. “See if you can see – touch my hand.” She held it out, and Jehan took it without hesitation, gasping a second later.

“Oh my god.”

“Could we all see?” Combeferre looked up at the buzzard. “Or would that be too much?”

“Try it!” Musichetta encouraged, her eyes unfocused as well now. They all shuffled forward on the grass to touch fingertips to her skin. Enjolras laid his fingers over her forearm, not quite comfortable with the idea of touching her bare leg.

His vision shifted suddenly, tilting sideways and blurring, light brightening for an instant before everything settled. He grabbed Musichetta’s arm properly, biting down hard on his lip both to stop himself gasping and to remind himself that he wasn’t actually hovering hundreds of feet above the ground.

He could see _everything_. He could see himself and the others, their hair shifting in the breeze. He could see his own fingers on Musichetta’s arm, pale against her dark brown skin. And the colours were so vibrant – he could see every shade of green in the grass, in the tree tops. The pattern of Azelma’s dress was as clear and distinct as though he was studying it up close.

“This is incredible,” Feuilly whispered.

“This is normal,” Combeferre said, amused. “For me, anyway. Lacking other spectrums of light, but the high definition is the same.”

“Shut up, asshole.” Bahorel nudged him, and Enjolras could _see it happen_ from the buzzard’s eyes.

“Birds of prey are the best,” Maria said, her voice faint. “I’d love to hitch an owl or something. The closest I’ve managed is a cat at night, and that was pretty cool.”

“This is the most amazing thing,” Jehan whispered, sounding close to tears. “Can you hitchhike its other senses?”

“It’s dangerous sometimes,” Maria reminded him. “I can get lost if I forget what I am and where I am, so I can’t go too far.”

“Can you imagine hitchhiking with a wolf in a pack?” Jehan murmured. “Hunting together and bringing down a deer or something?”

Enjolras smiled at the disgusted sound Feuilly made, and sucked in a sharp breath when the buzzard veered away suddenly, gliding to hover over the next field. “It’s hunting,” Maria sighed. “We should let it go before it sees something.”

“But diving would be so cool!” Jehan protested.

“Maria’s in charge.” Musichetta drew away from them, and Enjolras swallowed down his disappointment at returning to his puny human eyesight. Judging by the sighs and huffs around him, he wasn’t the only one.

“Am I short-sighted?” Feuilly squinted over at the house. “Or are my eyes just shit compared to a buzzard’s?”

“Your eyes are just shit,” Combeferre grinned, and flopped back on the grass to avoid Feuilly’s disgruntled swat. “Unlike mine,” he sang under his breath.

“Alright, we know.” Courfeyrac lay across him, making him wheeze. “No need to go on about it.”

Enjolras looked up at where the buzzard had been and wished their days could always be like this.

 

In a beautifully decorated room in a tall, glass-plated building, a man flicked his fingers. A gesture for his bodyguard to continue beating the teenaged boy currently panting on the plush carpet. His bodyguard nodded and kicked the boy in the stomach. Most people groaned after something like that, but this boy just kept breathing, not even resisting. He was a wiry, lanky thing, stripped down to a dirty (now ripped) t-shirt and jeans, muddy trainers ruining the rug they were digging into.

The man sighed. “Why is this taking so long?”

“We’ll get there,” his bodyguard assured him, and brought his boot down on the boy’s hand. The boy winced, but didn’t react apart from that. The scream of pain the man had been expecting did not come. He didn’t like it when things didn’t go as expected.

“Little freak.” His bodyguard leaned down and dragged the boy’s head up by the hair before punching it down again. “You’ll give in eventually. You wait till I move onto the fingernails.”

“Move where you like.” The boy sucked in a deep breath and spat blood onto the carpet. “I can dull my pain receptors and heal whatever damage you deal out. Go fuck yourself.”

“I’m hardly asking you to violate the Geneva Convention,” the man sighed. “Just heal me, and you can go on your way.”

“Go eat a dick, asshole. I already told you I _can’t_ – it’s too complicated, you stupid fuckwit –”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” His bodyguard kicked the boy onto his back.

“Enough.” The man flicked his fingers again. “Go and get one of the others. You see,” he added, watching the boy try and get his breathing back under control. “People always seem to assume that in order to force someone to do something, you need to have a hostage that means something to them personally. A family member or a friend, you understand. Sometimes it’s true, but people are sentimental, empathetic beings most of the time. And you clearly have a moral code.”

The boy glared at him and rolled onto his hands and knees as the man’s bodyguard returned with two more of his security detail, each of them holding onto another struggling teenaged boy. Both a little younger than the healer, both scruffier.

“We don’t need to bother with pleasantries. Hurt that one.” He gestured to the black boy, and his bodyguard walked forward in time to catch the healer as he lurched towards them with a protesting shout. As he did, the guard holding the black boy tripped him to the ground and slammed a knee into his head.

The man smiled at the resulting shout of pain. At least some freaks reacted the way nature intended. “Continue,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the objecting yells. The boy only had to sustain two more blows before the healer was crying out.

“Stop, stop, I’ll do it!”

“Don’t!” the boy gasped. “I’m fine.” The man gestured, and he cringed as his guard kicked him again.

“Stop!” the healer struggled against the bodyguard holding him back. “Please, leave him alone.”

“Heal me, and I’ll let you all go.” The man smiled. He was nothing if not generous.

“Let them go first.” The healer’s voice was shaky, and the man laughed.

“No one goes until I’m cured,” he said. “I’m not a salesman, and you aren’t haggling on this. Now get to work. I want this cancer out of my cells by tomorrow.”

 

The news that they were finally getting new students spread through the house like wildfire. Spread more specifically _by_ Gavroche, who was always the first to know everything. He sat on the banisters like a monkey and grinned, always pleased to be the one with the news. “Lamarque’s been emailing someone – a foster worker or something – who keeps an eye out for biodynamics like us. Well,” he added, giving Enjolras and Combeferre a once-over. “Some of us anyway.”

“Didn’t you say you’d stop reading Lamarque’s emails?” Feuilly raised their eyebrows. Gavroche shrugged, unrepentant.

“I have trust issues. Says so in my file. Anyway, that’s not the point – point is, we might be getting three new boys.”

Enjolras waved to get his attention and signed, _what did it say exactly?_

Gavroche squinted. “Too fast. Ask slower?”

“He asked what the email said,” Combeferre supplied.

“Oh. Only that there are these three boys who apparently have nowhere else to go, and they’re all biodynamic.”

“Where are they now?” Musichetta asked, pressing forward. “Foster homes?”

“They were in police custody, but now they’re staying with the guy Lamarque’s been emailing, just as a temporary fix.”

“Police custody?” Bahorel lit up. “What did they do?”

Gavroche shrugged a thin shoulder. “No idea. I don’t think they did anything – I think it’s more like us.” He glanced at Éponine and Azelma. “Exploited, y’know?”

Éponine nodded. “Do you know when they’re coming?”

Another shrug. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Lamarque left on a Thursday afternoon and returned the next day while everyone was at school. When they got back, there was an unfamiliar car in the driveway, and they practically stampeded off the bus to go and find the newcomers.

Sister Simplice headed them off before they could get to Lamarque’s office. “No,” she said firmly, spreading her arms and herding them up the stairs. “You’ll meet them when they’re ready, and not before. Shoo.”

“I’m hungry,” Gavroche whined, climbing up onto the banister. A quick leap and he’d be gone, round the corner and through the door, halfway to the kitchen before Sister Simplice could even turn around.

“Do you, or do you not have enough snacks up in your room to fill that belly of yours?” she said, all too knowing. Gavroche hesitated, knowing he was caught, and it gave her time enough to step up and nudge him back onto the stairs. “Upstairs until you’re called. Go on. Patience is a virtue, virtue is a grace, and Grace is a little girl who wouldn’t wash her face. _Shoo_.”

Enjolras mouthed the words of the proverb along with her, as did everyone else as they trudged up the stairs. They ended up converging on the fire escape, Feuilly practising teleportation with leaves and Musichetta trying in vain to extend her senses downstairs to try and figure out what was going on. Gavroche used Combeferre’s laptop to read Lamarque’s emails again, but couldn’t give them any information other than the boys’ names – Joly, Laigle, and Grantaire.

“Doesn’t even say what their biodynamisms are,” he muttered, disgusted. “Unless they’ve coded it in somewhere.”

“She does know you read those,” Azelma shrugged, dangling her bare feet over the edge of the metal platform. “She’s probably learned not to say anything she doesn’t want you reading.”

“What happened to freedom of information?”

“What happened to privacy?” Combeferre snorted, taking his laptop back. “Come on, I actually have work to do.”

“If she wants private, she should write letters.” Gavroche stalked back inside, and Enjolras took his place so he could watch Combeferre work.

“You are not copying me,” he murmured, fingers fast on the keys before he looked around to see Enjolras’ reply.

_Just getting ideas._

Combeferre snorted. “Ideas. As if you didn’t virtually plagiarise my last history essay.”

 _You helped me draft it!_ Enjolras signed, sweeping movements emphasising his words. _Of course it sounded like you. It’s not my fault I’m shit on paper._

“If they let you speak your essays, you’d be getting the highest grades in the class,” Courfeyrac grinned, having followed the conversation. Enjolras flipped him off, but he just laughed.

They weren’t called downstairs for another hour or so, Sister Simplice leading the way to the common room. Enjolras was first through the door after her, and he drank in the sight of new people. There was a man and a girl as well as the promised three boys, and Enjolras’ gaze flicked from face to face as the others filed in behind him, making him move closer.

The boy at the end was tallest, pale and thin with flyaway hair. Next to him was a black boy with a bright yellow beanie who actually smiled at them, waving awkwardly. “Hi.” The boy on his other side had pale brown skin and a mass of black curls, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his baggy hoodie.

The new man had snow-white hair, though he looked a little too young to be wearing it. The girl at his side was Asian, with short blue hair and a wide smile. Lamarque gestured to them first. “This is Monsieur Valjean and his daughter Cosette. Cosette will be staying with us as well for a while, and obviously I expect you to make her welcome. And this is Grantaire, Laigle, and Joly.” She pointed them out in order. “They’ll be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”

“Were you exploited for criminal gain?” Gavroche asked right away, ignoring the resulting glares and hisses of his name. “We were,” he added cheerfully, gesturing to himself and his sisters. Éponine whacked the back of his head and scowled, but Azelma just sighed.

“Um. Kind of?” Joly glanced at Laigle and Grantaire. Laigle shrugged and nodded for him to continue, so Joly cleared his throat. “I can manipulate and encourage regeneration of organic matter? In myself, mostly, but in other people too sometimes. So this guy wanted me to heal him, even though he was a sleazebag, and it turned out okay because the cops busted in before anything actually happened – it was a sting or something? Either way, we were basically unaware bait for this asshole to string himself up with, but to force me to heal him, he held Bossuet and R hostage.”

“Who?” Musichetta stared at him, and he blushed.

“Laigle and Grantaire.”

“Aire,” Grantaire repeated, in Joly’s voice. Everyone’s eyes snapped to him, and he hunched his shoulders and looked down.

“You’re a vocal manipulator?” Courfeyrac stepped forward, putting a voice to Enjolras’ excitement.

“Vocal manipulator?” Grantaire echoed, Courfeyrac’s voice coming from his mouth. It was a perfect copy, and Enjolras swayed forward even though Grantaire was flushing, clearly embarrassed.

“That’s so cool!” Courfeyrac went closer, grinning. “So’s Enjolras! He doesn’t echo like you though.” He pointed at Enjolras, and Grantaire looked at him from under a fringe of black curls. “When he speaks, everyone who can hear him kind of has to listen? It’s involuntary, so he doesn’t talk much.”

“What about you?” Musichetta asked, and Enjolras listened absently to Bossuet telling them he had the most useless precognition in the world as Grantaire stared at him. He attempted a small smile, and although the tension in Grantaire’s shoulders seemed to ease a little, he didn’t smile back.

They kept looking at each other when the adults left, leaving them to get to know each other without supervision. Cosette was a manipulator of shadow, it turned out, and had connections to the Thénardiers and to Fantine.

“My mother had to give me up, and the Thénardiers got involved somehow,” she explained, sneaking little looks at Éponine and Azelma and Gavroche. “I was with them for maybe three years? I don’t remember much. But then my Papa came – Fantine sent him, but by the time he came back with me, she’d vanished. I know now she’d been arrested, but he had no idea, and when she got out she didn’t know how to find us either. Not even Madame Lamarque knew, or she would’ve put us in contact much sooner.”

Everyone seemed to be enchanted by Cosette, with her bright blue hair and her pretty clothes and quick way of talking. She didn’t appear to be at all fake either. Courfeyrac responded to Enjolras’ signed query – _is she for real?_ – with an excited grin. And he would be able to tell, so Enjolras trusted his judgement.

But mostly he only had eyes for Grantaire. Joly and Bossuet were talkative when they loosened up, talking over each other and laughing –

(“You can’t be tortured for someone and not have a _bond_ with them, y’know?” Bossuet grinned. “He’s my brother now.” He threw an arm round Joly’s shoulders and pulled him into a gentle headlock. “Even if he is the skinniest white boy I’ve ever met.”)

– but Grantaire kept his mouth firmly closed, though he smiled now and then when the others laughed. He wasn’t exactly attractive (his nose was too big for that, with bags under his eyes and spots on his chin as well), and he hadn’t volunteered any information about himself so far. Enjolras was surprised at how much he wanted Grantaire to join in with the conversation. He wanted to know more about him.

So he touched Combeferre’s arm and signed when he looked, _can you ask him_ (he pointed at Grantaire) _about himself?_

Grantaire was frowning when he looked over, attention clearly caught by Enjolras’ gesture in his direction. “Enjolras mostly uses sign language to avoid forcing everyone to listen to him,” Combeferre explained. “He wanted to ask about you.”

“About you,” Grantaire parroted. “About –” _me_ , he mouthed, gesturing to himself and flinching when the others looked at him.

Enjolras nodded, and Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “Cosette, tell us more about Paris. I’ve always wanted to live there.” A few pointed looks, and most people diverted their attention to Cosette, who chattered away agreeably. Grantaire got up to come and sit next to Combeferre, shooting Enjolras furtive looks every few seconds.

Combeferre smiled at him and kept his voice low. “Do you have a voice of your own? Sorry, that sounded horrible – I meant, can you use your own voice, or do you have to echo?”

“Echo,” Grantaire repeated, but squinted and made a wobbly gesture with his hand.

“So you can talk normally sometimes?”

Grantaire nodded, twisting his fingers together in his lap. His hoodie was so big that the sleeves covered most of his hands, the frayed ends brushing his knuckles.

“How did you get mixed up in all that?” Combeferre asked, looking over at Joly and Bossuet, the two of them in the process of creating a life in Paris together.

Grantaire opened and closed his mouth, then looked away and shook his head, shoulders slumping in defeat. Enjolras tapped Combeferre’s shoulder and signed, _ask him if we can ask him_ (a nod in Bossuet’s direction).

“Can we ask Bossuet?” Combeferre asked, quiet and kind. Grantaire nodded, lifting his head again.

“Bossuet?” he repeated, exactly the way Combeferre had said it, but louder to catch Bossuet’s attention.

“Hello?”

“Bossuet?” Grantaire said again, beckoning. Bossuet grinned and came over, pulling a chair around to face them.

“How’d you get them to say my name? Nice going, R.”

“Aire,” Enjolras repeated the sound without thinking, realisation striking him. He winced when everyone fell silent and turned to look at him (years of it happening whenever he spoke, and it still creeped him out), but went on, needing to know if he was right. Grantaire’s eyes were wide and startled, and Enjolras leaned towards him. “Grand R? Grant-aire as in capital R?”

Grantaire broke into a smile, cheeks darkening as he nodded. “Grantaire, capital R,” he repeated, and Courfeyrac gasped.

“Hey, it’s just like when you speak! With the attention effect and everything!”

“You must have incredible vocal cords,” Combeferre muttered, staring at Grantaire’s throat. “I thought Enjolras’ ability was partially telepathy based, but if you can mimic the effects, maybe not.”

“I could try and check?” Joly offered, raising his hand. “I mean…” He hesitated when they looked at him, but forged on. “I’m still pretty rusty on the way the body actually fits together and everything, but I want to study to find out. But, um, what I meant was, I could probably tell if your larynx is physically different from the average person’s? I haven’t actually checked, but I’m pretty sure Grantaire’s is, because he can hit any note in the human range, but I could check yours as well?” He gave Enjolras a small smile.

Maria jerked suddenly, almost reaching out to grab Joly’s arm before she pulled herself back. “Could you change a voicebox?” she asked, eyes wide. “You said you can alter organic matter, right? Does that mean you could make someone’s voice different?”

Joly nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure, I don’t see why not? I mean, I’d want to study it first and stuff, and practice on myself so I don’t screw anyone up, but it’s totally doable with my power?”

Maria grabbed Éponine’s arm instead, and Enjolras exchanged a smile with Courfeyrac. Everyone knew that Maria’s tenor voice gave her a lot of dysphoria some days (she’d mentioned once that she was glad they all knew sign language so she didn’t always have to speak out loud to communicate if she didn’t want to).

Grantaire ended up taking the last available room on the top floor, and Joly, Bossuet, and Cosette took rooms on the floor below. Only Cosette had brought a suitcase. Bossuet had told them, after Grantaire had called him over, that he and Grantaire had met in Paris, both of them living rough after leaving home. They’d stuck together for safety for two months or so before getting pulled off the streets by a gang of men searching for one biodynamic runaway in particular – Joly.

“My parents are actually okay with it,” he told them over dinner. “They know I’m here and everything. They just don’t really want to be involved for a while.” He pushed food around his plate and shrugged one thin shoulder. “I figured that if I could set myself up and save a bit of money, I could maybe go to med school and become a real doctor, and they’d warm up to the idea. Everyone likes doctors, right?”

“Who doesn’t want their child to marry a doctor?” Musichetta smirked.

“Mine.” Bossuet waved a hand and grinned. “Mine wanted me to marry someone who would be amenable to being a housewife. They’re very traditional. Oh –” He blinked a few times, smile fading, then looked at Bahorel, reaching out a hand. “Wait!”

Bahorel, in the process of turning away from Jehan, knocked his glass of water off the table with his elbow. It shattered on the floor, and Bossuet slumped in his chair. “Every time.”

Grantaire nudged his shoulder, grinning, and Courfeyrac laughed, getting up to help Bahorel clean up the glass and mop up the water. “Most useless precognition in the world?”

“I think I’ve been in time to stop something happening maybe twice?” Bossuet snorted. “And when I do manage it, no one knows I actually averted anything. I could just grab a cup and say, ‘oh, you were about to knock this over and I saved it! Bow down before my mighty powers!’”

Enjolras wished he could join in the conversation without making someone look at him first, but there was something nice about sitting back and listening as well. The house had been feeling claustrophobic lately, but the new arrivals had livened things up again. New abilities to explore and experiment with, new points of view, new faces and voices and names.

Combeferre would turn nineteen soon. The oldest of them, he’d already stayed longer than initially intended so that he could leave at the same time as Enjolras and Courfeyrac. They’d been talking about moving to Paris, going to university there (their parents were willing to pay for their continued education, if not willing to see them on a regular basis). Enjolras hadn’t mentioned it yet, but he hoped the others would come as well. In theory, all of them moving to Paris just to stay together sounded ridiculous, but in practise…

If they pooled their resources, they could easily find somewhere to live together. Enjolras knew some of them might want to get away from the community atmosphere of Lamarque’s house, at least for a while, but he liked everyone being together. It was selfish of him, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Whenever he went back to his parents’ during the holidays (they’d given up on trying to make him stay for more than two weeks at a time) he missed everyone fiercely.

They were more of a family than his blood relatives had ever been.

 

The newcomers settled in slowly, and Enjolras watched them all. His silence meant that people who didn’t know him tended to ignore him. Not intentionally, but if he didn’t draw attention to himself, he’d found that he slipped people’s notice. It was occasionally irritating, but more often useful.

Cosette and the Thénardiers had circled each other for days before something happened overnight and they were suddenly on excellent terms. Combeferre was coaching Joly through his advanced biology textbook. Bossuet somehow ended up involved in a prank war with Jehan and Bahorel (forcibly ended by Musichetta, who was livid when her laundry got the same itching powder treatment as the boys’ by mistake). Grantaire was the only one who stayed almost as quiet as Enjolras, and watched everyone even more.

Whenever he tried to approach Grantaire, he would slip away. To be fair, Grantaire avoided almost everyone else as well, but he would at least sit near them. Enjolras had tried to wrangle sitting next to him at dinner twice, but Grantaire evaded him both times. Courfeyrac noticed, of course, and they sat on the fire escape together, signing to each other in the light coming from their windows.

 _Do you have a crush on R?_ Courfeyrac signed, grinning. Enjolras scowled, crossing his legs to keep his feet warm, even though the metal under him dug into his ankles.

_No, don’t be stupid. I just want to know why he keeps avoiding me._

_Maybe he has a crush on you._

_Why does it always have to be about love?_ Enjolras rolled his eyes as he signed the word _. I can’t just want to be his friend?_

 _Maybe he knows it would be difficult to talk to you._ Courfeyrac shrugged at Enjolras’ frown.

_Why would it be?_

Courfeyrac snorted, the only sound either of them had made so far. _Sure, let’s stick the guy who can’t speak out loud with the guy who can only echo what other people say in a room and see how much talking they manage._

Oh. Enjolras sighed. _You might have a point_ , he signed, movements small and reluctant. The sound of a window opening made them both jump, and they scooted back against the wall, the roof hiding them from sight. There was the sound of someone climbing out onto the fire escape, and Enjolras crept forward on his knees after a moment to peer round the edge of the wall.

He jerked back and signed to Courfeyrac with one hand, _it’s R!_

Courfeyrac lit up, crawling forward as well to peek around the corner.

Grantaire was leaning on the railing, an iPod in his hand, the light from the screen throwing his face into sharp relief. After a moment, he slid it into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, taking one out and holding it between his lips. Smoking was absolutely forbidden in Lamarque’s house, and Grantaire had to know that as he lit up and inhaled deeply. A few seconds later, he exhaled a stream of smoke that dissipated swiftly in the night air and turned to sit on the steps, his back to them.

They watched him for almost a whole minute before Courfeyrac tapped his arm and motioned for them to move back inside. Enjolras nodded and signed, _goodnight_ , before climbing back into his bedroom and closing the window. He didn’t fall asleep for a long time, moving around his room with no aim, restless and distracted.

He wanted Grantaire to like him. He wanted to get to know him better. And he never hesitated to go after what he wanted.

Next morning, he cornered Grantaire with a pre-typed message ready on his phone. Grantaire shrank against the wall until Enjolras held his phone up and pointed at it, the two of them alone in the hall leading from the side entrance to the foyer.

 _Would you like to learn sign language so you don’t have to echo what other people say?_ he’d written. Only when Grantaire gave him a surprised look did he think to ask, miming slowly, _has someone else already offered?_

Grantaire shrugged and signed a clumsy hello and goodbye at him with a helpless gesture following. Enjolras smiled and slid his phone into his pocket before signing it back at him properly. Grantaire hesitated, then repeated them, correctly this time. Enjolras nodded, smiling wider, and Grantaire finally smiled back at him. Just a small one, but it still thrilled him.

As if Enjolras’ offer was a catalyst, suddenly everyone was signing instead of speaking in order to teach the newcomers the language as fast as possible. Grantaire picked it up fastest, and because they were all on their summer break, Enjolras used the excuse of teaching him to spend as much time with him as he could. There was something about Grantaire that drew him, and as they spoke more, he became more and more fascinated.

 _I can use my own voice sometimes_ , Grantaire signed to him one afternoon, technically perfect but still quite slow. They both had to mouth the words to make themselves understood. _It usually happens by accident._

Enjolras leaned back into the sun – they’d been sitting under the oak tree for hours, and they both kept moving so that Grantaire could stay in the shade, and Enjolras in the light. _What do you mean?_ Enjolras asked him.

 _By accident_ , Grantaire signed again, sighing and shrugging. _I don’t know. It just happens._

 _You echo more when you’re overwhelmed_ , Enjolras signed. _Have you noticed?_

Grantaire snorted, giving him an unimpressed look. Enjolras smiled in apology – obviously he would have noticed. _Sorry_.

Grantaire waved a hand and flopped back to lie down. Enjolras leaned back on his hands and watched his chest rise and fall, the shape of his bare feet partially obscured by the grass. What would it be like to press his hand over Grantaire’s sternum? To feel the warmth of his skin through his thin t-shirt, maybe feel the steady beat of his heart?

He wanted to. He wanted to stretch out next to Grantaire in the shade and press his face into the other boy’s curls. Fling an arm over Grantaire’s chest and trace the line of his jaw before kissing him, unhurried and lazy under the tree with all the time in the world.

Ah.

Enjolras took a deep breath, then nodded once to himself. Courfeyrac was never wrong, and Enjolras was perfectly capable of not freaking out because he clearly had a massive crush. On Grantaire. On clever, funny, wonderful Grantaire.

Grantaire had run away from home because of what Enjolras suspected was an abusive father. He didn’t need to speak out loud to get his point across – he was so physically expressive now that he was more comfortable around them. Bossuet always called him R, and most of the others did as well, but Enjolras mouthed his full name to himself when no one could see him. Grantaire, grand-R, big R. He’d always appreciated puns.

Funny that Grantaire called himself _capital_ R when he seemed to make every effort to fade into the background.

Grantaire loved spinach and hated carrots. He went on long walks and returned happier than when he’d left (Enjolras suspected it was on these walks that he bought the cigarettes he smoked at night). Joly’s iPod was basically his now because he used it so much. He was never completely still – always tapping his fingers or jiggling his leg. He protested whenever anyone suggested he cut his hair, shaking his head and mouthing _no, no way_ , over and over.

Enjolras pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly, needing to hold onto something to stop himself doing something stupid. Like lying down on top of Grantaire and kissing him breathless.

Grantaire sighed, head tipping sideways before he sat up very slowly, eyes fixed on something on the ground. As Enjolras watched, he picked up a twig and held it against the ground for a moment, then lifted it very slowly. There was a fat bee clinging to the end of the twig, dark yellow and black stripes visible from where Enjolras was sitting. He scooted back with wide eyes, and Grantaire laughed at him without making a sound.

 _He’s sleepy_ , he mouthed, miming falling asleep. _He won’t sting you_. He put the twig down and motioned for Enjolras to watch the bee as he got up. _Two seconds_ , he mouthed, and started jogging back towards the house. Enjolras leaned forward to squint at the bee. If it wasn’t for the way its legs were waving sluggishly, he would’ve thought it was dead.

True to his word, Grantaire returned a minute later holding a tiny dish. When he knelt down, Enjolras saw it was full of water, and he watched as Grantaire coaxed the bee into sitting on the edge, his whole face softening when it started to drink. Enjolras waved to get his attention and pointed to the dish with a quizzical look.

 _Sugar water_ , Grantaire mouthed, grinning. He sat back and crossed his legs, signing, _it was tired and this will help it feel better. Isn’t it cute?_

Enjolras laughed silently. Grantaire was cuter, in his opinion, but he didn’t want to say that. Not yet, anyway. Some digging would be required first. He just hoped to god that Grantaire wasn’t straight.

 

Enjolras was going to die. He needed to ask Combeferre to have ‘murdered by Grantaire-induced feelings’ engraved on his gravestone, because he was going to _die_.

He was going to die because Grantaire could sing. And Enjolras knew it was his own voice, because it stayed the same from song to song and it was a bit rough and sometimes cracked on high notes, and it was the most beautiful thing Enjolras had ever heard.

He’d found out by accident, coming into the dining room while Grantaire was washing up in the kitchen next door and hearing him through the open door. When he’d peeked inside, Grantaire had been in front of the sink, headphones in, singing along to a song Enjolras didn’t recognise. It was upbeat, whatever it was, and Grantaire was bobbing his head and bouncing in place, really getting into it.

Enjolras had literally needed to hold his hand over his mouth to stop himself whining, and he’d ended up sat outside on the floor, butt going numb as he listened to Grantaire’s gorgeous voice with his head in his hands.

Since then, he’d made a note of whenever Grantaire was on washing up duty, and sneaked into the dining room just to listen to him sing. He was pathetic, and he didn’t even care. _Please, god_ , he mouthed, Grantaire belting out song after song in the kitchen on the other side of the wall, _don’t let him be straight._

 

According to Courfeyrac, Grantaire was definitely not straight. “And he’s definitely into you,” he added, smirking. Enjolras blinked, hands freezing in mid-air. When he didn’t respond, Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “That’s good isn’t it? Because you like him too?” When Enjolras reeled backwards, eyes wide, Courfeyrac just laughed. “Please, just try to hide your gooey feelings from the empath. Just _try_.”

 _Shut up_ , Enjolras signed, scowling. _That’s invasive_. He was glad they were alone in the common room.

Courfeyrac pushed his shoulder. “You know I can’t help it. Besides, you two are emoting all over the place. To be fair you’re not the only ones, but urgh.”

 _Not the only ones?_ Enjolras leaned forward again, smiling. Courfeyrac shook his head.

“Ah ah ah, nope, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. It’s _invasive_ , remember?”

Enjolras sighed and flopped sideways across the chairs. Courfeyrac leaned over the back of his and grinned at him until he signed, _how do you know he likes me?_

“Because I can feel it, moron.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “It’s hardly rocket science. He’s just weirdly shy.”

_You’re absolutely sure?_

“You know how you could really check?” Courfeyrac reached over and flicked his arm. “ _Ask_ him. Ooh, or better yet, go straight for the kiss.”

Enjolras covered his face with his hands, ignoring Courfeyrac’s laughter. He had the worst friends.

 _How do you ask someone out?_ he asked Combeferre later. _Sign back_ , he added quickly. They were in Combeferre’s bedroom, but the walls were thin, and he didn’t want anyone overhearing.

Combeferre grinned, pulling the screen of his laptop down so Enjolras would be able to see his hands better. _Who are you asking?_

 _Guess._ A quick flick of his hand, disgruntled. Combeferre laughed, the traitor. He had the _worst_ friends.

_R?_

Enjolras glared at the duvet between them and nodded. Combeferre waited until he looked up to sign, _it’s easy. Just ask him to be your boyfriend._

Enjolras fell face-forward into the bed and groaned as quietly as he could. He had to sit up again to sign, _it’s not that easy._

 _It really is_. Combeferre reached over to pat his head, and Enjolras swatted him away with a scowl. _Stop that. I’m not a child._

 _This is really cute though_. Combeferre grinned, unrepentant, and laughed when Enjolras threw a book at him. _Seriously_ , he signed a moment later, _just keep talking to him and ask if he’d be interested in being more than friends. If he says yes, hooray. If he says no, tell him that’s fine, you hope it doesn’t ruin your friendship, and come here to hide your face in multiple pillows as you cry_.

Enjolras fell forward again, face pressed into Combeferre’s duvet. He really, really hoped it wouldn’t end with him crying into pillows in Combeferre’s bedroom.

 

 _My superhero name would be Echo, obviously_. Grantaire rolled his eyes, as if offended that Enjolras even had to ask.

 _Oh, obviously_. Enjolras smirked, still trying not to freak out over the two of them being in Grantaire’s room, sitting opposite each other on his bed. He’d caught Grantaire on the fire escape, smoking, and they’d both gone inside when he’d finished his cigarette.

 _Not only does it fit what I do_ , Grantaire signed slowly, _it also has_ … He trailed off, waving his arms uncertainly. Enjolras cocked his head, and Grantaire mouthed something a few times. _Mythological_ , Enjolras realised eventually.

“Mythological?” he breathed, as quietly as he could. Grantaire brightened, the way he always seemed to do when Enjolras used his voice, and nodded. He gestured to Enjolras’ phone, asking without words to use it.

Enjolras handed it over without objection, and waited while Grantaire tapped out a long message before handing it back.

_Echo was a nymph who used to help Zeus out whenever he went off to have affairs. She would waylay Hera (Zeus’ wife) and chatter on for hours until Zeus got back. Hera got so pissed off when she figured out the trick that she eventually cursed Echo to only ever be able to repeat what others said first. Echo ended up falling in love with Narcissus (the guy who fell in love with his own reflection) but she could only ever repeat his own words back to him, so that relationship failed before it ever got off the ground. And then she died._

_And then she died?_ Enjolras signed, frowning. _Why?_

Grantaire shrugged. _A broken heart. Funny though, right? I used to be really loud and talkative too._ He gave Enjolras a wry smile that Enjolras couldn’t return, looking down instead and saving the text Grantaire had written as a draft.

 _How do you know all that stuff?_ he asked. Grantaire shrugged again, hands hovering before they began to sign a slow reply.

_I used to read a lot._

_Used to?_

_Back home_. Grantaire pulled a face. _Before I was biodynamic._

 _You were always biodynamic_ , Enjolras signed back. _You mean before it manifested_. One of the good things about sign language was being able to watch Grantaire’s face while he signed. Grantaire always looked at his hands and mouth, rarely his eyes, so Enjolras could watch freely. _When did it manifest?_ he asked.

_You first._

_I was in an airport_ , Enjolras told him. _It was just after the scanners had been put up in the Paris airport to detect biodynamics. The security guards knew before I did. They pulled me away from my parents and put me in detention for hours before I saw them again. And after that, my parents sent me here._ He shrugged and gestured to Grantaire. _Your turn._

Grantaire’s face underwent a series of expressions – wrinkled nose and forehead, puckered mouth, bitten lip – before he lifted his hands and started to sign. _I had a_ – he hesitated and mimed coughing. Enjolras showed him the sign, and he repeated it, nodding. _I had a cough. A sore throat? And when my voice came back it wasn’t mine anymore. It started at school, and I freaked out and came home. When my dad got back I couldn’t stop echoing him, and he lost his shit and_ … Grantaire looked down, fingers lacing together for a moment before he sighed and pulled them apart, smacking one fist into the other palm with a shrug, glancing up to check Enjolras’ reaction.

He’d suspected, but it was one thing to suspect and another to have it confirmed. Still, Enjolras kept his face impassive. He couldn’t stop himself signing, _he sounds like an asshole,_ though. Grantaire huffed a small laugh and nodded.

_Yeah. I stuck it out for a while, but even I have limits._

_I’m glad you ended up here_ , Enjolras signed, giving him a small smile. Grantaire’s answering smile was crooked, shy.

_Me too._

Back in his own room, Enjolras buried his face in his pillow and berated himself for being such a coward. They’d been alone in Grantaire’s bedroom, on Grantaire’s _bed_. He couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity, and he’d been too cowardly to take it.

Next time, he decided. Next time he would do better.

 

The next time he managed to wrangle being alone with Grantaire, they were in the library. It had started so well – Grantaire showing him books of Greek mythology and signing excitedly about everything in them. He even found a book with a painting of Echo, watching from across a river as Narcissus gazed at his own reflection and ignored her.

Enjolras watched, more than a little enchanted, as Grantaire’s signing got sloppier the more enthusiastic he became.

 _You’re really smart_ , he signed when Grantaire took a break. The grin that had been lighting up his face twisted, becoming sarcastic.

_Shut up._

Enjolras frowned, tapping the table when Grantaire looked away. When he looked back, he signed, _you are. This is all really cool._

 _Really useless you mean_. Grantaire rolled his eyes and flipped the book about art with Greek mythology as its subject matter closed. _I’m not smart_.

 _You are_ , Enjolras signed quickly while Grantaire’s eyes were still on him. All it earned him was another eye-roll and a derisive sound. Enjolras rapped the table with his knuckles, scowling. Grantaire sighed and turned to look at him again, and he signed, _you are smart_ , emphasising every movement. _Look at all that stuff you just told me. Did anyone teach you that?_

 _Reading doesn’t equal cleverness_ , Grantaire signed back, sloppy now out of irritation. _Just because I can read, it doesn’t make me a genius. You don’t have to pretend._

 _I’m not pretending_ , Enjolras insisted.

Grantaire slammed his hand down on the table, and Enjolras jumped. _People like Combeferre are smart_ , Grantaire signed, glaring down at his hands as they moved quickly through the words. _People like Joly and Musichetta and Cosette are smart. I can’t even do maths in my head. I’m a fucking idiot compared to people like you._

Enjolras shook his head, furious. _No!_ he slashed his fingers through the air. _You’re not an idiot._

 _How the fuck would you know?_ Grantaire’s hands rushed through the signs, faster than he’d ever gone before. _You’ve never seen my exam scores or been to school with me._

 _I don’t need to have seen scores to know that you’re not an idiot_ , Enjolras retorted. _School exams are measuring devices that work for some people and not for others. It’s no indication of what you can really do._

Grantaire hit the table again, fist banging against the wood. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he snarled, and Enjolras reeled back. Grantaire clapped his hand over his mouth, flushing. The voice was deep, a man’s voice coming from a boy’s body. There was no way it was Grantaire’s.

Enjolras tapped the table, but Grantaire shook his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath through his nose before removing his hand, opening his eyes and fixing them on his hand, gripping the edge of the table tight.

“Repeat it, you retarded little prick,” the unfamiliar voice growled out of Grantaire’s mouth, his blank face at odds with the venom he was regurgitating. “You’re a fucking idiot, _say_ it. Your grades are so fucking low they don’t even belong in the alphabet. Useless little shit. Repeat it, you fucking spastic! What the fuck are you good for?” Grantaire’s eyes slid shut again, his knuckles turning white. “Can’t even clean a fucking kitchen properly, what’s the point of you? You should never have been born. Say it! I should’ve made your mother abort you. Useless piece of shit. Waste of space. You’re fucking worthless.”

Disconnected insults he’d been forced to remember, forced to repeat. Enjolras shook his head, but Grantaire’s eyes were closed, still spitting harsh words like bullets.

“Grantaire, stop,” he begged, and Grantaire sucked in a shaking breath. “Don’t.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, hoping no one apart from Grantaire was near enough to hear it. “Don’t, you’re none of those things. Was…that your father?” A tiny nod. Enjolras took a step closer and covered the hand Grantaire was gripping the table with with his own. “You’re none of those things,” he whispered. “You’re amazing. Look how fast you picked up sign language, and how funny you are even when you don’t speak.” Grantaire’s hand unclenched, and Enjolras slid their fingers together. “You know all this cool stuff and you remember it off the top of your head, and you know all about music, and you make really good food, and I love your voice –”

“Love your voice,” Grantaire echoed, lifting his head to frown. He pulled his hand away (Enjolras mourned internally) to sign, _you’ve never heard my voice._

“I have,” Enjolras said very quietly. “I’ve heard you sing.”

Grantaire shook his head, signing, _that’s not me_. He opened his mouth and sang a few lines Enjolras didn’t recognise in a woman’s voice. Enjolras shook his head, keeping his voice as low as possible as he replied.

“When you have your headphones in and you can’t hear yourself, you don’t echo. Didn’t you know that?” Apparently not, because Grantaire’s eyes were wide, lips parted in shock. Enjolras couldn’t help smiling. “So I have heard you sing. And speak – there was a speaking bit in one of the songs I heard, so I’ve heard you speak as well. You have a beautiful voice.”

Grantaire opened and closed his mouth, then swallowed and signed, _so do you_.

“Thank you.” Enjolras signed it as he spoke, rejoicing when Grantaire smiled. Was this a bad time? He’d wanted to follow through on his resolution to ask Grantaire out since they’d come into the library, but maybe asking just after Grantaire had blurted all of that horrible shit his dad had made him remember wasn’t the best idea.

 _Are you okay?_ Grantaire signed, hesitant. _I’m sorry I said all that stuff. I didn’t mean to dump it all on you._

“I don’t mind,” Enjolras whispered, still cautious of being overheard. “I like knowing things about you. Even sad things.”

Grantaire pulled a face. _There’s nothing interesting about me._

Enjolras grasped at the air with his hands, frustrated. How could one person be so ignorant of their own brilliance? He put a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “Everything about you is interesting to me.” Grantaire shivered, eyes falling closed. Heat curled in Enjolras’ stomach – he was close enough to feel the warmth coming off Grantaire’s skin, and he tightened his grip on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’ve never been so fascinated by another person before,” he went on, just breathing the words out. “It isn’t just curiosity. I…” He wanted to know everything about Grantaire, and stay with him as he discovered new things and had new experiences. He wanted then to spend all their time together. He wanted to kiss him so badly he was aching with it.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras moved back enough to see his face properly, starting to smile.

“That was your voice,” he breathed. Grantaire nodded, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Enjolras slid his hand from Grantaire’s shoulder to the side of his neck, thumb against the hinge of his jaw. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered. “Can I kiss you?”

Grantaire breathed, “Yes,” on an exhale, and had enough time to take a shallow breath in before Enjolras pressed their lips together, his other hand finding Grantaire’s waist. He’d never kissed anyone before, and Grantaire was the one who slid his arms around Enjolras’ back and pulled him closer, tilting his head for a better angle. Their lips parted for a second and came back together, and Enjolras slid his fingers into Grantaire’s hair (it felt as good as it looked) and _melted_.

Was it just kissing that felt amazing? Or was it because he was kissing Grantaire? Enjolras’ thoughts didn’t get any more coherent than that for a while, and when they did eventually slow down Grantaire had moved to sit on the edge of the table, his legs holding Enjolras close (and quite possibly holding him up).

“I messed up your hair,” Enjolras breathed against his neck. Grantaire’s chest shuddered – a laugh – and he pressed a line of kisses up the side of Enjolras’ face. Sitting like this, he was taller, and Enjolras found that he quite liked that. “Will you go out with me?” Grantaire squeezed him, and Enjolras laughed breathlessly. “Is that a yes?”

Grantaire leaned back, nodding, and Enjolras couldn’t help pulling him in again to keep kissing him. He had serious doubts that he would ever want to stop.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


End file.
